


Sun Line

by Patronoftheravens



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, JUST, M/M, Palm Reading, Pining, Pining and fluff, That's it, also a lot of one sided dialogue, dismas is a hopeless romantic, good shit, tardif is a stubborn dick, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 01:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patronoftheravens/pseuds/Patronoftheravens
Summary: Tardif is one on-edge boi (tm) and doesn't think he needs sleep. Dismas thinks otherwise. That's it. I'm bad at summaries. This is short and fluffy and yeah I love that Dismas can read palms so I wrote a fic.





	Sun Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonpeach/gifts), [Wraithlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wraithlight/gifts).



> Hey you should tell me if you like this or not. Bc I like you for reading this *wink*.

The campfire grows lower, reflecting dull embers in Tardif’s steel mask. Dismas wakes slowly. Sleep never comes easy in these ruined places. He stands and pads over to Tardif, freezing when he realizes the hunter hasn’t heard him. He stops far enough behind the other that he won’t be hit by an elbow or, Light forbid, a heavy fist, weighted with the iron knuckles he conceals under thick gloves. A short soft whistle passes his lips and Tardif’s shoulders stiffen, startled. His posture rights itself immediately. So he was dozing off then.

“Don’t need to take watch anymore,” he checks the watch in his coat pocket, “should’ve woken me an hour ago.”

“Ain’t tired. Didn’ feel th’ need to.”

“Come now. I saw how you reacted just now. You’re beat. Rest. We’re nearly done here,

just need to backtrack from here. Rest while you can.”

“Said ‘m fine.”

Dismas heaves out a sigh and sits next to him, legs crossed, “you mind lettin’ me see your palm?”

The black voids in Tardif’s mask turn to Dismas’ eyes. It’s still a touch unnerving, “What for?”

“You seem to be havin’ a rough go at it. Want to see if I can help. Merely something to pass the time. Nothin’ more.”

Tardif grumbles something under his breath. Dismas doesn’t catch it, but he does pull a glove off of his right hand, “Are you right handed?”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Need your left palm then,” He feels the raised eyebrow rather than sees it as Tardif pulls the right glove back on and the left off. Dismas extends his own gloved hand, in red rather than brown, and Tardif places his hand in his, palm up. Dismas tugs him a bit closer to the fire so he can better see the lines of his palm, “Let’s see here…” he smooths his thumb along the most prominent middle line in Tardif’s palm, “long head line...you’re a thinker then. I knew that already. Hard to be a bounty hunter without thinkin’,”  then they move to the uppermost line, “Hm...heart line ends strangely, in that cross there...someone hurt you hm? Coulda guessed that too. S’pose I’m not the best mystic out there,” he looks to Tardif for approval, a comment, but the eyes in the mask are trained upon his own hand, now lax in Dismas’ hold. Dismas smiles, traces the heart line again, “short line with a curve though...you’re reserved. Hmp, don’t think I’m tellin’ you too much. Ah,” and he moves to the bottom most line, “this is interesting though, a very straight life line. For someone with your looks I’m guessin’ you’d be popular with the ladies but you haven’t been in too many relationships, have you Tardif?”

“No,” a curt answer, trying to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

“Fair enough. You could benefit from trustin’ someone, you know,”  _ like me, _ “Oh, ‘n no fate line. You’ll make your own path. Think you’ve figured that out though,” an easy smile, another look to Tardif. This time, it earns him a huff of laughter, “‘n a sun line meetin’ the life line, success ‘n fame, or infamy I suppose, particularly in your line of work,” another huff of laughter, another personal success for Dismas. He folds Tardif’s fingers back into his palm, one at a time, “I think that you should get some rest now. I’ll take the last watch.”

This time, Tardif doesn’t fight, merely pulls his glove back on and lays down a small distance away from the fire. Dismas sits, alone now, doing a rather poor job of a watchman as thoughts of Tardif and how his hand felt in his flicker in his mind. If only.


End file.
